Monday, November 11, 2013

An America and England Lemon -- Gone Like July

Character(s): America and England

Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia

OC: Isabella.  Famous model who hangs around famous people, like the countries :3  Is very assertive and confident in herself, almost to a fault.  Likes to dominate~

Inspiration: Hope this one meets all your expectations!  Please feel free to post any other Hetalia threesome ideas in a comment below.  I'll be starting a new one soon :3

Isabella von Beatrix was, in a single word, beautiful.  And she knew it.  And so did everyone around her.  That didn't particularly mean that she exploited that beauty, at least most of the time.  The fact that she was a famous model made things sometimes difficult for her, that's all.  The world had placed standards and expectations on her that didn’t always meet up with her personal viewpoints.  But the stereotypes unfortunately defined her, as they often did to a person, and Isabella was known worldwide as being arrogant, beautiful, and a bit of a bitch.  It was mostly true.
Mostly, because she only portrayed that fa├žade in public.  In private, however, she was totally different.  Still lovely, still slightly arrogant, still a bit bitchy.  But mellower, softer, more at peace with herself.  And, though she'd never admit it, a little bit under confident.
That was what came with being raised by a top model like her mother, who had ruled over her childhood with strict diets, exercise regimes, and an altogether unloving personality.  Her mother had gotten to the top by being strict on herself and she'd passed that down onto her daughter.  Except it had morose consequences and left Isabella feeling flawed, like she was never good enough, like she never could obtain the level of perfection her mother wanted for her.
But nobody could have guessed that she suffered from those hidden feelings.  In public, Isabella was the image of perfection, of confidence.  Young girls aspired to be her, men old and young saw her as the epitome of sexual appeal and feminism.  She was without a single flaw.  And here, in a room full of famous nations, she shone like a brilliant diamond encased in gold.
"Yo, Arthur," Alfred greeted, walking up to the bar with his arm slung casually around Isabella's shoulders.  The Englishman glanced up, his eyes immediately drifting to Isabella.  The three of them were fairly good friends, at least in her own eyes.  Though America and England fought, she liked to think that they held more similarities than differences.  She smiled at Arthur and he blushed.
"Is that any way to treat a beautiful woman?" Alfred asked, tugging Isabella closer.  She laughed a bit and pulled back, face composed in a calm mask.  Alfred liked to touch her, but then again, he was like that with everyone.  Touch was his way of saying 'hello', and 'goodbye', and 'see you later'.  Touch was comfortable and familiar.
Arthur frowned and turned back to them, standing up suddenly and brushing off his suit.  He cleared his throat and gently took Isabella's hand.  His green eyes greeted hers warmly, and when he spoke it was in a soft, gentleman-like tone.  "Isabella.  You look lovely tonight," he told her sincerely, and then brushed his lips just above the back of her hand, not touching, never touching.  And yet in that moment, Isabella found herself desperately wanting him to kiss her hand, properly, to forgo that silly tradition of kissing the air and not skin.  To treat her like a woman.
His eyes flashed into hers and then moved to Alfred's, who was frowning at him as though he'd just issued a challenge.  "How was that?" he asked Alfred cheekily, and Isabella laughed again, sliding onto the bar stool beside him.  "It was just fine," she assured him before Alfred could speak, and Alfred laughed a little as he sat down on her other side. 
"Yeah, 'just fine', but not perfect.  Did you even kiss her?" he asked around Isabella, and then turned to the bartender.  "One bourbon, on the rocks.  And a vodka and tonic for my gorgeous date."  And then he rested his chin on his palm and sent Arthur a suave grin that made Arthur grit his teeth.
Isabella hummed and drawled in a rather bored voice, "I didn't know I was your date, Alfred.  When did we decide that?"  And gorgeous?  She'd never describe herself as gorgeous.  Pretty, beautiful even, but not gorgeous.  That term should be used on when describing something exotic, something dazzling.  But she had normal hair, though it was currently twisted into an intricate knot.  And she had normal gray eyes, eyes that were even a little muddy, a little boring.  Not gorgeous and certainly not exotic.
Alfred shrugged and caught Arthur's eye, "Just thought you'd want to keep the other men away.  They can get tiring, can't they?"  He slid an arm around her waist and turned to her, bright blue eyes catching hers.  She blushed a little and sighed, not bothering to deny him.  It was true, at least, and the fact that she agreed made Alfred grin.  Arthur just sat there glowering into his beer.
"One bourbon on the rocks, one vodka with tonic," the bartender suddenly said, and slid the two drinks toward them before going off to attend some other countries sitting a few seats down. 
Isabella drew her vodka and tonic closer and was about to take a sip and Alfred caught her wrist.  "How 'bout a toast?" he asked, breath fanning out over her cheeks.  She was a little startled at his close proximity, but she kept her cool as she always did and shrugged.  Alfred raised his glass.  "To America!" he grinned, and clinked his glass with hers before taking a huge sip.  Isabella laughed.  "Of course.  And to England," she added, giving Arthur a sideways glance and taking a sip.  His cheeks flared to life and she smiled.  Alfred harrumphed and muttered something about that 'not being fair'.
Then he jumped right back into his happy demeanor and raised his glass again, eyes slanting over to Arthur's as he said, "And to the beginnings of what I hope will be a wonderful night."  They all toasted and drank, Alfred grinning manically while Isabella and Arthur exchanged glances.  What, exactly, Alfred meant by that, neither knew.  But Isabella had a feeling she'd find out soon enough.  And Arthur already had some idea as to the inner workings of Alfred's thoughts, which somehow made him angry.
"Bartender," Arthur called out, glancing at Isabella's nearly empty vodka.  He'd beat Alfred for sure.  In a charmed voice, he said, "Another vodka for my date."  And his arm looped around her shoulders as he threw Alfred a superior glance.
Isabella raised an eyebrow.  "Your date?" she wondered, not particularly caring.  But she was curious at the strange game England and America seemed to be playing, and Isabella didn't like being in the dark about things.
Arthur shrugged.  "If you want to keep men away, who cares who your date is?" he said, leaning forward.  He rested his chin on his hand and looked into her eyes.  "I'm more of a gentleman that he is, anyway.  I know how to treat women."  Beside her, Alfred spluttered in protest.
"Oh, I suppose that's alright," she shrugged, smirking over at Alfred and wondering how he'd respond.  He glowered at them and then stood, tugging on the his tie and loosening it a little.
"That may be true," he agreed, leaning on the counter.  "But I actually know how to have fun.  Dance with me, Isabella?" he added, his voice hopeful, and she laughed a little and accepted.  This time, Arthur frowned.
He watched them cut midway into the dance nearly flawlessly, immediately spinning around the floor as though they belonged there.  The style of dance was traditional ballroom, as it always was in these sorts of UN parties.  Both nation and model seemed to innately know the dance moves, and they twirled and dipped in an almost heady sort of way that made Arthur fiercely jealous.
"Bastard," Arthur muttered, sinking into his glass for a long moment.  And then he slammed it back down, remembering scenes that portrayed Alfred and Isabella, always together, always near each other.  And they made him angry, furious.  Why was she always with him, anyway?  America wasn't particularly smart.  He wasn't intelligent.  He had courage, maybe, but that's all he had.  What on earth did Isabella see in him?
"Ya know, maybe it's not my place to say," the bartender leaned forward, watching Isabella and Alfred spin around on the dance floor.  "But I think that lady wants you to save her."  The randomness of his words made Arthur frown, but when the bartender pointed to the duo, Arthur glanced around again and Isabella immediately caught his eye.  The bartender shrugged and mumbled, "But who knows?  Women are confusing."  Then he was hailed over to another group of countries and left Arthur in peace.
It did sort of look like Isabella wanted Arthur to cut in.  He watched Alfred lean in a whisper something in her ear, and she laughed.  But then her eyes jolted back to his, and the way they were narrowed in warmth, in an invitation, made Arthur wonder if perhaps the bartender's words had some truth to them.  He glanced back at his beer for a moment and then pushed away from the bar.  He was England, a gentleman.  It was his duty to save women from their foul dance partners.
He moved through the crowd of dances gracefully and when Isabella saw him coming, she slowed down.  Alfred glanced over his shoulder and frowned.  "Oh, Arthur, would you like to dance too?" Isabella wondered, smiling a smile that seemed rather conspiring.  Alfred was about to protest when Isabella moved from his arms to Arthur's, and then the new duo took off into the dance, leaving Alfred on the floor, glowering heatedly.
Isabella laughed, tipping her head back as Arthur twisted her.  "That was fun!  Did you see his face?"  She moved closer to Arthur, hand gripping his.  He chuckled a little and caught Alfred's eyes from across the room.  The young nation was 100 years too young to match him in romantics.  Well, at least when Arthur wanted to be romantic, which wasn't really normal behavior for him.
His hand burned through Isabella's thin dress, dipping against her shoulder blade respectfully.  But he didn't want to be respectful.  It wasn't often that Arthur danced with a woman, especially not a woman like Isabella.  He pulled her closer and she willingly came, spinning out into a twirl and coming back into his chest in a breathless manner.
The song ended a few minutes later, and Isabella gasped out a short, "I think I need another drink."  Arthur nodded and tucked her hand into his arm, leading her back to the bar and pulling out her chair.  Alfred, who had been leaning against the counter watching them, took his seat as well and glowered at Isabella.  She raised a brow at him.
"Another vodka for my date," he said loudly, and the bartender glanced over at them in slight confusion, no doubt from the way Isabella seemed to be changing dates left and right.  Alfred smirked victoriously and Isabella rolled her eyes.
"She's my date.  I'll pay for her drinks," Arthur said sternly, leaning around Isabella to address Alfred.  But Alfred only laughed and said, "I claimed her first, didn't I?  Go get some other woman if you want a date so badly.  She's mine."  He callously drew Isabella closer, hand lingering by her neck.  His lips hovered by her ear, his eyes narrowed into glares.
"That's not true," Arthur growled, dragging his hand around her hips and pulling her toward him.  "She's clearly interested in me more.  And don't treat her like she's something to be claimed!"
Isabella hadn't anticipated this strange turn of events.  But she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy them.  She listened in morbid fascination as they continued to quarrel over her, taking a long sip of her vodka before standing up and breaking into their argument.
"You can both have me," she said, smirking a little.  "I you want me so badly, then share me."  And with a delicate shrug, she glanced at both countries before walking away, toward the doors that led to the private rooms that the countries would be staying in that night.
Silence.  England and America looked at each other.  They hadn't exactly been fighting over who got to be with her like that, just who got to call her his, who got to dance with her and pay for her drinks and be her date.  But they'd rather die than let the other have the final say in this delicate matter.  Both countries stood and all but ran after her, glaring at each other as they stumbled from the room.
By the time they'd caught up with the model, both of them had managed to compose themselves.  Alfred immediately threw his arm around her again and Arthur tucked her hand into his arm, drawing her to him.  She went, arms slipping around both of them as they walked down the hall.  They made quite a scene, though not many countries were there to see it.
That was just as well, really.  It wouldn't do for anyone to see them all enter the same hotel room and stay there for hours on end.  They each had their own image to keep, after all.  So it was with backward glances that the two nations entered the room after Isabella.
"Make yourselves at home," she told them over her shoulder, and then walked off to the bathroom to 'freshen up'.  But it was impossible for them to do that.  Nerves were flying everywhere.  Alfred as able to hid his better, but he was still uncomfortable.  He'd never done anything quite like this before and felt like he needed a few more drinks.
Meanwhile Arthur sat on the bed, loosening his tie and running a hand through his messy hair.  He was weighing his options.  Stay or go.  Win or accept defeat.  Be with Isabella or don't be with her.  He didn't like the thought of having to share, but the thought of leaving and letting America have everything made him frown.  Ultimately, his choice was decided for him when Isabella stepped into the room a few minutes later.  And the sight of her, lovely in her gown, her warm eyes twinkling, made him resolute in staying.
She smiled charmingly and walked to the liquor cabinet.  As she began pouring them what looked like hard rum, Arthur studied her.  She didn't look nervous at all.  In fact, her entire persona was magnificently confident.  However, he knew that she wore a mask most of the time and was probably feeling a little hesitant.  He figured any woman would be when there were two handsome men in her room.  One more handsome than the other, of course.
"So?" she asked, turning back around.  Alfred stepped up to take his drink, and Isabella walked to England to hand him his.  "I thought I told you to make yourselves at home."
Alfred laughed and looped an arm around Isabella's waist.  He pressed a kiss to her cheek.  "We wanted to wait for you."  She shivered a little and hummed, fingering Alfred's tie.  His breath was like rum and his eyes were like open skies.  The honesty in them made her feel more comfortable, allowed her to relax.  She leaned in to kiss him and he responded gently, lips moving with hers at a slow pace.  A pace that screamed out in comfort, in equality.  She smiled a little and pulled away.
Then she downed the rest of her glass of rum and walked to the bedside table to put it down.  "I don't want you two to think I do this all the time.  In fact…I rarely bring men home.  Bad publicity," she added, shrugging, and went to pour herself more rum.  The taste of the alcohol was bitter and not something she usually had, but tonight called for it.  She sauntered to the bed and sat beside Arthur, clinking glasses with him before downing another sip.
Alfred shrugged, "You're one of the richest women on the planet.  Why should we care what you do in your spare time?"  He sauntered to the edge of the bed, dropping his tie and beginning to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.  But Isabella stopped him with lazy, smooth hands.  She leaned forward, put the shot glass on the bedside table, and smirked, "You aren't allowed to take your own clothes off.  It's a rule, Alfie dear."
His eyes turned to narrowed oceans that sank her, drowned her in annoyance and rash, jumbled thoughts.  But those jumbled thoughts were in no way a part of the rest of him.  His actions, when he growled and pushed Isabella back onto the bed, were smooth and flawless.  "Don't call me that," he warned, taking her lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss.  Beside them, Arthur watched with a furrowed brow.
It was true that he was unsure as to how to proceed.  Centuries of historical chivalry and whatnot had schooled his mind towards more honorable circumstances.  Two men didn't lay with the same women.  It still made him uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to let Alfred have all the fun.  He glowered at them and allowed a slow, steady hand to touch her thigh, her knee, tickle inside her leg, brush up against her heat.  Her reaction was fairly priceless.
"Arthur~" she moaned, even as Alfred still kissed her.  It made the larger nation pull away with a fierce frown, which was soon directed at his rival.  Arthur only gave him a smirk and glanced down at a breathless Isabella.  He used to be a pirate.  He could be one yet.  "Get up," he commanded, and Isabella shivered at the lustful order.  She slowly rose to her elbows, then into a sitting position. 
"You said you wouldn't let us undress ourselves," Arthur nearly purred, voice low and bare, eyes drinking in the sight of her.  He watched her smile darkly, watched her hands reach for him, and her eyes whisper promises to him.  Then he watched as she ripped away his tie and pushed him onto his back in a rough manner.  She climbed up his body and dealt with his dress shirt, pulling it from his chest and dropping it to the floor.  Then she glanced up at him in the dim light, smiled again, and leaned down to kiss the revealed skin.  His hands slid up to her legs and he held her in place.
But ignoring someone like America came at a price, a price that he was all too willing to carve out for himself, unhindered, unstoppable.  And it was with that thought process that Alfred edged closer, stood up from the bed, and drew his hands over Isabella's back.  A moment later, the zipper of her gown was being tugged down and her dress was falling away, revealing smooth, creamy skin that sang out in the shaded light.
Isabella shivered but didn't stop.  She paused only a second, to glance at Alfred over her shoulder and give him a pleased smile.  And then she was showering Arthur with attention again, this time near the waist band of his dress pants.  He watched with cautious, heady eyes that made her more excited than she cared to admit.
She peppered open kisses over his skin, her fingers scorching fire into him.  She was so close to his erection, which created such an obvious bulge in his pants.  Arthur raised himself on his elbows to better watch her, just in time to see her nuzzle his clothed member with her nose.  She pressed her tongue against the stretched fabric and the heat, the blissful, arching heat of it made Arthur bite his lip to hold back a fierce moan.
Alfred wasn't helping his cause, either.  The bigger nation was finishing off the process of dragging Isabella's dress off.  She wasn't wearing a bra with it and so when the number came off, she wore only a thin, flimsy pair of panties that left little to the imagination.  The sight of her hovering, bare, over his half-clothed figure made Arthur more than aroused.  He was practically aching, especially at the sight of Alfred reaching around to squeeze Isabella's breasts.
She moaned a little at the sudden touch, eyes alighting with fire.  Alfred smirked at the sound of it and pressed his own erection against her bottom, which was jutting out as she hovered over Arthur.  The feel of it, the reminder, must have sparked something in Isabella, because the next moment she was pushing back against him, grinding her ass into what must have been a very intense arousal.  The contact made Alfred grunt and heave her ever closer.
She turned the rest of her attention to delivering pleasure to Arthur, who was just a little bit annoyed that Alfred had once again stolen the limelight by his move.  He needn't have been, though.  Isabella more than made up for it when she jerked her teeth over the zipper of his pants and pulled it slowly down, eyes locked with his.  Her fingers did the rest of the work, pushing fabric away until it was halfway down his thighs, and then her lips took over again when she took him into her mouth.
No teasing, not tonight.  Isabella was already very turned on from the mere thought of being with two men at once, thank you very much.  And from the looks of it, both Arthur and Alfred shared that sentiment.  It was enough for Arthur, anyway.  He all but melted when she started pumping those delicious lips around his stiff member.  He fell back onto the mattress, feeling powerless and yet unstoppable all at once.  A soft, low moan bubbled from his throat and his face reddened a little, but no one else seemed to care.  Alfred was too busy trying to touch every part of Isabella he could.  And Isabella…well, she was too engrossed in her current job, fingers pumping what her mouth couldn't quite reach.  Her tongue eased over the slit at his tip and he nearly lost it then.  When she moaned against his shaft, eyes closed and sucking hard, Arthur glanced down at her and the sight she made had him holding back a moan of his own.
But this pleasure certainly didn't last.  Alfred was getting impatient again.  He definitely had a right to be, anyway, considering that he was still wearing all of his clothes.  His wild touch had reminded Isabella of that, at least, and so it was with just a tiny touch of reluctance that she pulled away from Arthur.  His cock sprang back, arching up in arousal, and she very nearly brought him back.  But then she remembered once more that this wasn't just about her or Arthur.  She was being selfish.  So she eased herself up and turned to Alfred with a gentle smile, beckoning him closer.
He nestled himself between her legs, a grin slanted over his face.  It was Arthur's turn to watch this time, and he did so with a curious expression.  This was an entirely new situation for him.  He'd never witnessed two people being intimate before, at least not like this.  But it seemed that even now, Isabella and Alfred knew each other.  They were already good friends, they were always together in public gatherings, always knew what to do to make the other laugh.  And moan, it seemed.  But Arthur wasn't really that jealous this time, watching them interact.
Isabella drifted her fingers over Alfred's shirt, making quick work of the buttons.  When the fabric of it was push off his shoulders on onto the floor, she slid her hands over the broad expanse of his chest, delighting in the feel of his muscles.  He watched her through lazy eyes that screamed out with passion, the blues in them shining at they took in her every move.  When she reached his pants, Alfred's eyes flashed darkly, lowly.  But she didn't undo the button or the zipper.  Instead, Isabella rubbed over the bulge of his pants and watched his reaction.
His eyes fluttered closed for a split second before they reopened and came to rest on hers.  The fire within his gaze seemed to drown her, and it was coupled with a fierce growling moan that vibrated through his chest and made Isabella more excited than she thought possible.  But the best part was the way his hands shot up to grab hers and pull them farther against his clothed manhood.
She smirked a little, her lips arching up into a delicious smile that Alfred wanted to kiss right off her face.  She acquiesced to his obvious demand, only too happy to touch him more.  There was just something about touching him like this, through his pants, that made Isabella absolutely ache.  She bit her lip a little and then very nearly jumped in shock when a different hand came to rest on her shoulder.  She had completely forgotten about Arthur.  But he would remind her of his presence now.
He came to kneel behind her, knees jutting out to frame her legs.  He seemed to have shed the final bits of his clothing, because his hard cock pressed sinfully against her back and the feel of it was making her rather delirious.  He didn't do much, just touched her, hands dipping over her body, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.  It was only when Isabella finally jerked away Alfred's pants and had her fingers wrapped around his shaft that Arthur touched her more intimately.
His fingers rubbed over the fabric that separated her core from him.  His other hand gently ran over her inner thigh, dipping against her heat here and there as he watched Isabella lean forward to take Alfred's cock into her mouth.  He locked eyes with Alfred for a split second and in that moment, an understanding seemed to pass through them. 
"Mmm…" Isabella moaned, spreading her legs farther.  Arthur dipped past her panties to touch her core unhindered.  He eased two fingers inside of her, pumping gently at first then harder, rougher after a few moments.  When he added a third finger, Isabella moaned again, louder this time, and released Alfred's manhood with a gasp.  "If you keep that up, I'm not gonna be of much use to you," she said breathlessly, glancing over at Arthur just in time to see him smirk.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and muttered, "Well then lets get on with it, shall we?"  And as he dragged his fingers away, Isabella was left feeling somehow cold, somehow empty.  She looked to Alfred and he nodded, sacred determination blazing through his eyes.  So she let Arthur pull her back, watched Alfred hook his fingers around her panties and drag them away, allowed herself to be maneuvered over Arthur once more.
She spared a moment to grind her lower body against his, enjoying the delicious friction that made shivers roll down her form.  She looked down at Arthur through wide, blurry eyes as he guided her hips over his and finally took her.  He nearly sighed out in relief when her heat coiled around him in thankful bliss. 
Her head tossed back a bit as Arthur began to thrust.  She rode him with a confidence that she often exhibited in pubic gatherings, but it wasn't enough for him.  He wanted her raw.  Bare.  Barer than she was now.  And so he didn't hold back as he grabbed her ass and pulled her into harsh thrusts that made her gasp, moan, whimper against him. 
Alfred's large, warm hands suddenly touched her back.  He guided her down until her breast were pressed diligently against Arthur's skin.  And then he raised a foot onto the mattress to steady himself and began to ease his hard cock into her other hole.  He tried to go gently, knew that it probably hurt a lot, this double penetration, but after a moment of agonizing purgatory Alfred had to move.  He did, watching with a strange, twisted pleasure when Isabella hissed out painfully and arched her back.
"Damn…" she gasped, and then laughed a little breathlessly, because she never thought she'd ever be in this sort of situation with these two countries.  She didn't quite know how to react to the attention, the desire.  She only knew that what she was feeling, the blazing, red hot arousal that torched through her, it was something she'd never experienced before.
Alfred groaned lowly, his voice raw and husky.  His hips molded against hers and he pushed her down onto Arthur's cock without even meaning to, his thrusts becoming dominant and rough.  The force of his lovemaking was something that Isabella happened to be very knowledge in, but she'd never had him take her from the back before.  It was somehow more erotic than ever, hearing his swift growls and feeling his bruising, ramming, colliding hips and yet not seeing him.  Only seeing Arthur, below her and holding her gently but passionately, always passionately. 
She buried her face against his shoulder and moaned, urging her hips forward and trying to keep to a rhythm that pleasured both the men inside her.  It was a difficult balance, a strange sort of equilibrium that felt like it would topple over at any moment.  And yet the unsurety of it, the knowledge that their pleasure could very well shrivel up in the midst of the impatience, the intricacy, made everything worth it.
Alfred's hand came down to slap over her ass.  The suddenness of the move made Isabella gasp and moan, feeling a strange erotica roll over her at the stinging sensation.  "Do you like that?" Alfred growled, and his large hands dragged her hips rougher into his before one of his hands came down again.  The pain was minute compared to the pleasure, which blistered through Isabella with a power that took her breath away.  She moaned again, back arching into such a flexible position that she resembled a feline just waking up from a nap.
"Answer me.  Out loud," Alfred muttered, this time bringing both his hands down to slap over her ass.  She mewled and then gasped, fingers clutching the sheets near Arthur's head as she hovered over him, breasts jerking from the intense shift of Alfred's thrusts. 
"Y-Ye-Yessss!  Yes!  Oh God, fuck yes," she finally gave in, and below her Arthur felt that he could die happy now that he had heard that senseless, erotic tone.  He moaned and thrust his hips faster, trying to gain some control of the situation instead of eternally allowing himself to remain overlooked.  It was a very difficult thing to do when America had it in his head that he was the center of attention.
But he managed it by suddenly, roughly rubbing over the top of Isabella's clit with two harsh fingers.  Her eyes darted down to lock with his and within them he saw complete, shattering awe.  The shivers that rolled down her body increased tenfold and she moaned louder, almost crying out when Arthur increased the tempo of both his hips and his fingers.  That, coupled with Alfred's controlled thrusts, was quickly making her lose her focus on the world.
"I'm gonna come!" she cried, eyes tightly closed, teeth biting her bottom lip.  "Ohh!"  She was breaking, raw, bare.  Just how Arthur wanted to see her.  Just how he wanted to know her.  The sight of that shattering made him want to come as well.  He upped his pace and watched with half lidded eyes as Isabella began to fall, fall into the pleasure that was utterly licking at her body.
"God that's tight," Arthur moaned, feeling her contract around his throbbing member.  It felt delicious, hot.  It felt like he was going to die and live at the same time, like both heaven and hell, fiery and icy, insane and subtle.  His back came up off the mattress and he couldn't possibly stop his seed from spilling into her.  The connection of their eyes started up once more and Isabella gave him a shaky smile that was bathed in elaborate emotion, so much that it all intermingled and couldn't possibly be pinned down.
She collapsed on top of him, cheek pressed against his neck.  His arms came up to wrap around her, fingers splayed over her back, tickling up her spine, through her hair.  Alfred hadn't reached his end yet and was still thrusting deliciously into her, pinning her hips utterly against Arthur's.  He jerked his thrusts faster, harder, rougher.  He watched Isabella moan and spread her legs more and the sight of her laying there, spent, made him want to come.
He shot his heat into her with a loud moan, his head tossed back, his hair falling away from his face.  His blue eyes glittered like dimmed topaz and he lost himself in the clouded perfection that was an orgasm. 
And then…silence.  The ticking of the clock beside the bed flared through the room like a crazed, maddened, nonsensical reminder.  Isabella sighed loudly, and the way her tired voice seemed to ache made Arthur chuckle.  He watched her lift herself off his chest and fall onto the mattress beside him.  Then he watched her spread her arms out to Alfred.  The larger nation smiled sleepily, satisfied, and crawled over to her.  He tugged her to his chest and she wrapped her arms around him, then looked back at Arthur with eyes that screamed out invitingly.  Arthur tucked his body against hers and spread his hand over her side, her hip, her arm.  They let the silence shake them down.
And then they laughed.  Because of the odd circumstances which brought them together, because of the fact that no one seemed to realize they were all gone.
"So?" Alfred asked, voice muffled against Isabella's hair.  She glanced up at him in confusion and he smirked.  "Which one of us was better?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Not everything is a competition, Alfred," she muttered.  To her surprise, however, Arthur raised himself up and looked down at her seriously.  "I think you should answer the question, Isabella," he said, but his eyes twinkled with amusement and she very nearly laughed aloud.
Silence again.  And then, "I need some more time to think about it."
A kiss was pressed to her shoulder.  Fingers ran up her leg.  A hardening cock shifted over her thigh.  Another along the edge of her ass.

"We'll give you plenty to think about," was all Alfred said in warning.  And then Arthur and him were beginning the act all over again, from start to finish, until Isabella was ever gasping, hurtling, sighing, shattering.  And no one, no one even knew they were gone.